Send One Angel Down
by Alexandra P. Useless
Summary: A gang fight leaves Mortimer Toynbee injured and helpless. Victor comes to get him and has a moment of thought. New mutants at the brotherhood? No romance.
1. one

**SendOne Angel Down, Lord**

**Whiskey Lullaby**

**Rating: PG13 for blood**

**WARNINGS:**

**Sabertooth OOCness, god help us**

**It's in the Catagory 'Spiratual' For a reason...There ARE angels in this fic**

**This is a bit short, a bit forced,you've been warned!**

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A silent figure hovered in the air above a grueling scene, the air about his body illuminated by golden light. His wings, seeming barely more than a trick of light and dust, beat at the air to hold him aloft. His face, features fine and well carved, had darkened with despair. It would seem that such a creature would have been observed by the mob of men and elder boys below him, but alas, not so. No many often saw specters of his type. At this point, he wished it otherwise. Now watching the act of prejudice play out below him, he raised his eyes to the Heavens, where his master abided, singing softly, "_Send one angel down, lord, send one angel down."_

A searing pain pulsed up the mutant's side, sending flashes of throbbing heat through his body as he lay on the snow covered ground. His eyes, only partially open, were focused on the face of his assailant. The lad, (he couldn't have been older than his early twenties) knelt, sliding the blade of his knife through the folds of his victim's jacket, wiping it free of the crimson substance hat had dripped from it only seconds ago. He sheathed the blade, stepping back into the throng of 'friends', all of whom clapped him heartily on the back.

Gang initiations were ugly things, especially when it involved claiming another's life. In this case, it was Mortimer Toynbee's. They walked away, leaving the ailing mutant to his fate, talking of liquor all around to celebrate their newest addition.

The mutant stared into nothingness, feeling the blood drain from his body, and there was not a thing he could do to prevent it. His entire form was covered in bruises, perhaps a few broken bones. His arms lay useless, one twisted at an odd angle. His right sleeve had been torn off his arm, a symbol for an Anti-Mutant organization carved with cruel detail into the greenish skin. His chest rose and fell slowly, the last breathes he would take unless a miracle was worked on this night… And a night of miracles it was. Tonight was Christmas Eve. _How ironic_. His lips, despite his predicament, had curved up slightly at the edges in an amused quirk. The snow surrounding his body had become stained with scarlet; his life blood.

He sighed, expelling a puff of frosty air from his lips, along with several warm droplets, stark red against the greenish tones of his skin. With each breath, he floated closer to the edge, painfully aware that he would soon be gone. His fingers clawed at the asphalt, trying to vent the pain ripping through his sides and chest. It wouldn't be much longer. Wouldn't Eric be proud, learning his lackey died at the hands of an Anti-Mutant mob?

Blood now trickled in tiny rivulets down the side of his cheek, his eyes, once bright and intelligent, were glazed over as the pain continued on. A hiss of air expelled from his lips… Not much longer. Another shuddering breath struggled into his lungs, he gasped, his eyes widening. Blood continued to trickle from his lips, bruises continued to form where their blows had fallen, and the world continued on, ignorant to the life passing under their very nose. _Not as if it would matter. _

"Eric…" He whispered the word, his voice distorted as blood filled his mouth again, causing a strangled cough to gurgle from his throat. "Why haven't you rescued me?" He voiced his thoughts, though already bloody well knowing the answer. Wouldn't Eric be proud, learning his lackey died at the hands of an Anti-Mutant mob?

Strange, how the man who's birth this night claimed to celebrate had whispered similar words so many hundreds of years ago; 'Father, why have you forsaken me?" His head lolled to the side, blood rippling from his mouth and pooling about his face. _But then, according to the pastor of the local church, that man had been dying for the sins of others…. Mortimer's life at this point was being taken from him for his own follies. _

There had been in the orphanage a picture of the Christ, his arms hooked under those of a fallen man, holding him from the muddied ground. The savior's face had been so full of love and sympathy for his fallen 'brother.' He had once been told the moral of such a picture. Why? It was still a mystery why any one would have taken their time to tell him of it's significance; Christ's compassion. A strange sensation he had not often savored. …Or suffered for that matter.

"Feel free," he rasped into the night's air, "to spread a bit o' tha' love over here." His sarcastic words echoed into the darkness. Lids slid closed over once vibrant eyes, now dull in death's tow. Here it was, the finish, curtains close. A sigh, in the form of a frosty breath, rose from his lips. The chill overtook his body. Death, it seemed, had a way of teasing him… Of dancing just out of his grasp… Closer and closer, and now nearly gone.

By the time that Victor Creed found his fallen 'brother', it had nearly been too late. He scooped up the listless form, brushing a layer of fine snowflake from him in doing so. The frog-man's body, having been badly chilled and weakened, responded quickly to the warmth, relaxing and now shivering the slightest, a sign that his systems were beginning to work again. The young man whimpered silently as Victor jostled his many hurts. He adjusted his hold, careful now of the badly twisted limbs. A look of disgust took the hard features of the Cat-like man's face as he observed the Anti-Mutant insignia that now marked his comrade's upper arm, the blood from which leaving a similar symbol stained into his fur-lined jacket.

Having now fulfilled Eric's wishes, he started back towards the beaten up vehicle he used for transportation. He deposited the fragile bundle onto one of the worn and torn seats, now lumbering over to his side of the truck and swinging himself in. The engine started with a rumble, accompanied by the heater's full blast.

Victor's dark eyes studied Mortimer's marred and bloodied face, taking in each newly carved groove and patch of blood. How often he had seen the Toad's face in such disarray. How often he had been sent to retrieve the troublesome mutant from an alleyway or gutter, finding him in a state similar to his present one. A strangled cough from the amphibianiod broke the silence. Partially alarmed, Victor extended a powerful arm out, pillowing the smaller mutant's head and propping him forward so that he could catch his breath.

Watching the younger man struggle, his face contorted in agony, Victor's mind drifted to the lyrics that had poured from the Choir singers' dark lips during that night's church session. Now, driving down the long, twisted roads that would eventually lead to the brotherhood hideout, he whispered those words silently, the tune distorted in the husky tones of his voice.

"_Send one angel down, Lord, send one angel down."_

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**Good? Bad? Flamers will be asked to keap flames to second degree burns and now higher!**

**Review! The Lava Spewing Rubber Duck commands you!**

**Ooc: And to my reviewers whom commented on my instertion of A/Ns in the story, well noted... See? click deleting!**


	2. two

**Alrighty, here'sthe second chappy, just as I was threatened glarring at lostmuse99 into making.**

**I don't own Green or Ash, they come from the book, "Green Angel"**

**Kudos to all my reviewers, to those who haven't reviewed, I hope you eat spinach! /--**

**Other wise, that's all I have to say... If reviews suggest it, I will take down this chapter and leave it a one shot.**

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A fellow brotherhood member, Green, met him at the door to the lair, accepting Mortimer's weight gracefully. Victor glanced at her gratefully as he stepped in, shaking a layer of snow from his sizable shoulders. A flickering of the shadows, and Green's twin, Ash, was at her sister's aid, leading Toad's bloodied form towards the medical facilities. Victor strode off in the opposite direction to report to Magneto.

o.o

The sisters laid the injured Toad on an examining bed, careful not to jostle the broken ribs or twisted limbs. Once Mortimer was properly situated, Ash retreated back into the shadows to watch her the painful ordeal. Green had already begun strip the mutant's torso of the several blood soaked layers of clothing, revealing a labyrinth blade marks. The dark haired lass ran a slender hand along the length of the damage, calculating eyes flashing angrily.

Many times she had seen a mutant's body in such disarray, though it never got any easier to look at. Scars criss crossed the exposed skin, a scarlet spider web, allowing the valuable crimson substance trickle carelessly onto the table and over her fingertips. One arm, she winced, twisted painfully into an awkward angle. Further inspection brought to view several shards of glass imbedded in the back of his head and the nape of his neck, most likely where a beer bottle had found it's mark. It was a miracle he was still living, and a mercy Victor had found him.

She sighed, fishing a roll of gauze from their limited heap of medical supplies, and got to work. Ash, knowing her sister's needs, slunk out the door, leaving her to go about her devices in private.

o.o

Feliniod eyes studied the face of the soot-dubbed girl as she entered the 'living room' of the Brotherhood Lair. Her expression was gray, though it often much was anyway. She took her usual brooding stance in the door way, leaning on the worn wooden sidings for looks more than anything else. Victor's growling tones interrupted the television's muted hum, "So how's the frog look?"

"Like Hell." Ash's eyes drifted to meet Victor's, he resisted the urge to flinch. The mutant, one of those who did not often shiver in his presence, was half blind, causing a film of white to overtake the dark orbs that had once been ebony.

The twins were strange ones indeed. Ash with her coat of hardened leather, Green with her healing hands. They had been recruited only one year past, and had already proved they were not to trifled with. Victor's gaze returned to the television, it's channels flashing as a younger recruit, Locust, took out his hyper mood on the t.v. remote control. He growled threateningly at the whelp, "Give that thing here."

o.o

Mortimer gasped in his coma-like slumber, sweat further beading upon his brow. Despite her efforts, Green saw her patient's life draining from him as he writhed under her restraining grasp. Blood had now stained her clothing as badly as it had stained his. He struggled a bit longer before passing further into unconsciousness. He would have another fit soon, five minutes max. Green put her forehead down hard on the table, her hair just brushing his skin. "God help me…."

.o.

The celestial figure, whom had stood by with shoulders tensed, sighed with relief at her offered words. He stepped forward, taking the ailing mutant's head in his hands, two fingers resting on each temple. Whispering words of comfort, her kissed the fevered brow, sending a blessed calm over the young man's body. The angel then moved to the girl, Green, whom was once again working to dress the numerous wounds on Mortimer's body. He set his hands on hers, guiding their movement and contributing to the energy rushing from her fingertips. Now, as a look of confidence took the young lady's features, he left her side, slinking back into the shadows. Green never even felt his presence.

.o.

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**cowering Yes, short and forced... But I needed to write. Flamers are expected and partially welcome.**

**Review! My Red Hot duck it still spewing lava! (and marshmellos!)**


	3. three

**Well, there you are, another chapte, as planned. I'll honestly say that I've not the slightestclue as to where this storry will go. I plan to keep my course, though, and continue right on. A special thanks to the very few but very special peeps who troubled themselves review! BUt to those who didn't... T.T cranky face!**

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Green cradled her head in her hands, resting against the back of her chair as she allowed her powers,now far past spent, to regenerate. The Toad would live. She sipped tentatively at a glass of water. Her limbs, her head, her eyelids, all continued to stubbornly remind her that she lacked a day's worth of sleep. "Ash?"

Her sister emerged from the shadow's embrace. "Yes?" Her tones, usually sharp and unforgiving to others, softened the slightest in Green's presence. "Could you watch him for a few hours? Just check up to make sure he's still breathing?" A nod from her leather clad twin affirmed Green'shopes, and she retreated down the hall towards their room. Ash settled in her sister's seat, crossing her arms across her chest. The radio on the counter gave off a few oldie melodies, lulling the thorn-studded girl into a friendly doze.

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Victor watched Green's wilted form move down the hallway towards the quarters her sister and herself shared. He stepped into her path, half empty beer bottle swaying in his grasp. "How's the wart?" Had the girl not been as damned timid as she was, she might have looked up to meet his gaze. Instead, she silently replied to the floor; "Not well, he needs a real doctor, my healing abilities only run so far." She sounded truly crestfallen upon saying this, in a way that caused Victor to suspect perhaps a hint of true concern for the green man in the girl's fragile tones. "Aw, Toad always pulls through. He'll have his sorry green ass off that table before long." She didn't seam to gain any comfort from his harshly spoken words, though perhaps her shoulders had slumped a bit further, whether from relief or exhaustion he would never know. "Thanks Victor."

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Under Ash's groggy gaze, Mortimer stirred, his face twisting in agony as another nightmare caught him up in his drug induced rest. She observed with fascination as his fingers twitched and his body convulsing under makeshift leather restraints. His lips struggled to form whispering words, though none would emerge. Concerned, Ash stood, leaning close to decipher the slurred and jumbled sounds drifting from his throat. "Com'on Mort, speak up." She removed a slender hand from it's leather casing, placing it firmly on his brow as she called up her mutant gift. Empathy, as it seemed, was more a power than a weakness than some would come toadmit. Her skin came into contact with his, at which point a flood of emotion sent the young mutant mentally reeling. She kept her hold on his subconscious, though, as wave after wave of his tormented memories slammed into her mind. Gritting her teeth, she delved deeper through the insane levels of anguish and hate, right down to the source of his nightmare. _My god. _

She extracted the painful effects of the memory, though she could do nothing to remove the memory it's self. Taking the torturous emotions, a wisp of darkness, on the tips of her fingers, the mutant carefully blew them away into the musty air of the medical room. She would never speak to othersabout exactly what she had witnessed in the confines of Mortimer's mind. It was too private, toopersonal for others to know of. Settling once again into the bed-side chair, she leaned back, intent onnot letting the evil memories return.

(the next day)

Locust set his wiry frame into the softest (and most worn) cushion of the couch, milk leaking from the corners of his mouth as he shoveled cereal to his lips. The television's screen depicted a black and white war scene. Cowboys and Indians. He slid the back of his hand over the slant of his mouth as droplets of out-dated milk collected on his chin. Green flopped onto the couch next to the insect-dubbed mutant, a mug of lukewarm coffee clutched loosely in her hands. Locust raised a critical brow at her ungroomed, unshowered appearance. "Late night?"

She cast a half hearted glare in his direction, her unspoken answer apparent as she casually flipped him the bird. Locust shrugged, spooning a bit more of the sugar-frosted flakes into his mouth. "-Simple 'yes' would had sufficed."

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With the coming of dawn, Ash's eyes had only just closed, no longer able to resist the sleep her body commanded. Her lips parted, the slightest snore escaping. Ash was asleep, a fact soon observed as Green entered the silent room, having showered an escaped the sarcastic tones of the insectiniod mutant upstairs. She quickly took Mortimer's pulse, nimble and inexperienced fingers searching for reaction under the skin. There it was, faint and erratic, but enough to keep him living, apparently. She jotted down a few notes, not exactly what for, as she knew she would never refer to them in the future. Perhaps just to assure herself she was doing well.

Careful not to wake her slumbering twin, she set to work changing the makeshift bandages and re-applying her healing touch to the wounds. Most everything seemed to be in order, and the bleeding had all but ceased. She had removed the glass shards from his skull, and had focused a great deal ofenergy on the anti mutant symbol that had marked his upper arm, though there would always be a faint scar. "You may live yet, Toad." She grimaced at the strange nickname, mopping at his browwith a dampened cloth. "You may live yet."

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